CHAPTER VI
IN THE TENT AT CHITIPTUR
The marquee was large and high. It had a thick lining of a dull redcolour and a carpet covered the floor; cushioned basket chairs and a fewsmall tables stood here and there; against one wall rose an openescritoire with a box of cheroots upon it; the two passages to thesleeping-tents and the kitchen were hidden by grass-screens and betweenthem stood a great Chesterfield sofa. It was, in a word, the tent ofpeople who were accustomed to make their home in it for weeks at a time.Even the latest books were to be seen. But it was dark.
A single lamp swinging above the round dinner-table from the cross-poleof the roof burnt in the very centre of the tent; and that was all. Thecorners were shadowy; the lining merely absorbed the rays and gave noneback. The round pool of light which spread out beneath the lamp wasbehind Ballantyne when he turned to the doorway, so Thresk for a momentwas only aware of him as a big heavily-built man in a smoking-jacket anda starched white shirt; and it was to that starched white shirt that hespoke, making his apologies. He was glad too to delay for a second ortwo the moment when he must speak to Stella. In her presence this eightlong years of effort and work had become a very little space.
"I had to come as I was, Captain Ballantyne," he said, "for I have onlywith me what I want for the night in the train."
"Of course. That's all right," Ballantyne replied with a greatcordiality. He turned towards Stella. "Mr. Thresk, this is my wife."
Now she had to turn. She held out her right hand but she still coveredher throat with her left. She gave no sign of recognition and she did notlook at her visitor.
"How do you do, Mr. Thresk?" she said, and went on quickly, allowing himno time for a reply. "We are in camp, you see. You must just take us aswe are. Stephen did not tell me till a minute ago that he expected avisitor. You have not too much time. I will see that dinner is served atonce." She went quickly to one of the grass-screens and lifting itvanished from his view. It seemed to Thresk that she had just seized uponan excuse to get away. Why? he asked himself. She was nervous anddistressed, and in her distress she had accepted without surpriseThresk's introduction to her as a stranger. To that relationship then heand she were bound for the rest of his stay in the Resident's camp.
Mrs. Repton had been wrong when she had attributed Thresk's request fora formal introduction to Ballantyne to a plan already matured in hismind. He had no plan, although he formed one before that dinner was at anend. He had asked for the letter because he wished faithfully to followher advice and see for himself. If he called upon Stella he would findher alone; the mere sending in of his name would put her on her guard; hewould see nothing. She would take care of that. He had no wish to makeBallantyne's acquaintance as Mrs. Ballantyne's friend. He could claimthat friendship afterwards. Now however Stella herself in her confusionhad made the claim impossible. She had fled--there was no other wordwhich could truthfully describe her swift movement to the screen.
Ballantyne however had clearly not been surprised by it.
"It was a piece of luck for me that I camped here yesterday andtelegraphed for my letters," he said. "You mentioned in your note thatyou had only twenty-four hours to give to Chitipur, didn't you? So I wassure that you would be upon this train."
He spoke with a slow precision in a voice which he was careful--or so itstruck Thresk--to keep suave and low; and as he spoke he moved towardsthe dinner-table and came within the round pool of light. Thresk had aclear view of him. He was a man of a gross and powerful face, with ablue heavy chin and thick eyelids over bloodshot eyes.
"Will you have a cocktail?" he asked, and he called aloud, going to thesecond passage from the tent: "Quai hai! Baram Singh, cocktails!"
The servant who had met Thresk at the door came in upon the instant witha couple of cocktails on a tray.
"Ah, you have them," he said. "Good!"
But he refused the glass when the tray was held out to him, refused itafter a long look and with a certain violence.
"For me? Certainly not! Never in this world." He looked up at Threskwith a laugh. "Cocktails are all very well for you, Mr. Thresk, who arehere during a cold weather, but we who make our homes here--we have tobe careful."
"Yes, so I suppose," said Thresk. But just behind Ballantyne, on asideboard against the wall of the tent opposite to that wall where thewriting-table stood, he noticed a syphon of soda, a decanter of whiskyand a long glass which was not quite empty. He looked at Ballantynecuriously and as he looked he saw him start and stare with wide-openedeyes into the dim corners of the tent. Ballantyne had forgotten Thresk'spresence. He stood there, his body rigid, his mouth half-open and fearlooking out from his eyes and every line in his face--stark paralysingfear. Then he saw Thresk staring at him, but he was too sunk in terrorto resent the stare.
"Did you hear anything?" he said in a whisper.
"No."
"I did," and he leaned his head on one side. For a moment the two menstood holding their breath; and then Thresk did hear something. It wasthe rustle of a dress in the corridor beyond the mat-screen.
"It's Mrs. Ballantyne," he said, and she lifted the screen and came in.
Thresk just noticed a sharp movement of revulsion in Ballantyne, but hepaid no heed to him. His eyes were riveted on Stella Ballantyne. She waswearing about her throat now a turquoise necklace. It was a heavynecklace of Indian make, rather barbaric and not at all beautiful, but ithad many rows of stones and it hid her throat--just as surely as her handhad hidden it when she first saw Thresk. It was to hide her throat thatshe had fled. He saw Ballantyne go up to his wife, he heard his voice andnoticed that her face grew grave and hard.
"So you have come to your senses," he said in a low tone. Stella passedhim and did not answer. It was, then, upon the question of that necklacethat their voices had been raised when he reached the camp. He had heardBallantyne's, loud and dominant, the voice of a bully. He had beenordering her to cover her throat. Stella, on the other hand, had beenquiet but defiant. She had refused. Now she had changed her mind.
Baram Singh brought in the soup-tureen a second afterwards and Ballantyneraised his hands in a simulation of the profoundest astonishment.
"Why, dinner's actually punctual! What a miracle! Upon my word, Stella, Ishan't know what to expect next if you spoil me in this way."
"It's usually punctual, Stephen," Stella replied with a smile of anxietyand appeal.
"Is it, my dear? I hadn't noticed it. Let us sit down at once."
Upon this tone of banter the dinner began; and no doubt in another man'smouth it might have sounded good-humoured enough. There was certainly noword as yet which, it could be definitely said, was meant to wound, butunderneath the raillery Thresk was conscious of a rasp, a bitterness justheld in check through the presence of a stranger. Not that Thresk wasspared his share of it. At the very outset he, the guest whom it was sucha rare piece of good fortune for Ballantyne to meet, came in for a tasteof the whip.
"So you could actually give four-and-twenty hours to Chitipur, Mr.Thresk. That was most kind and considerate of you. Chitipur is grateful.Let us drink to it! By the way what will you drink? Our cellar is ratherlimited in camp. There's some claret and some whisky-and-soda."
"Whisky-and-soda for me, please," said Thresk.
"And for me too. You take claret, don't you, Stella dear?" and helingered upon the "dear" as though he anticipated getting a great deal ofamusement out of her later on. And so she understood him, for there camea look of trouble into her face and she made a little gesture ofhelplessness. Thresk watched and said nothing.
"The decanter's in front of you, Stella," continued Ballantyne. He turnedhis attention to his own tumbler, into which Baram Singh had alreadypoured the whisky; and at once he exclaimed indignantly:
"There's much too much here for me! Good heavens, what next!" and inHindustani he ordered Baram Singh to add to the soda-water. Then heturned again to Thresk. "But I've no doubt you exhausted Chitipur in yourtwenty-four hours, didn't you? Of cour
se you are going to write a book."
"Write a book!" cried Thresk. He was surprised into a laugh. "Not I."
Ballantyne leaned forward with a most serious and puzzled face.
"You're not writing a book about India? God bless my soul! D'you hearthat, Stella? He's actually twenty-four hours in Chitipur and he's notgoing to write a book about it."
"Six weeks from door to door: or how I made an ass of myself in India,"said Thresk. "No thank you!"
Ballantyne laughed, took a gulp of his whisky-and-soda and put the glassdown again with a wry face.
"This is too strong for me," he said, and he rose from his chair andcrossed over to the tantalus upon the sideboard. He gave a cautious looktowards the table, but Thresk had bent forward towards Stella. She wassaying in a low voice:
"You don't mind a little chaff, do you?" and with an appeal so wistfulthat it touched Thresk to the heart.
"Of course not," he answered, and he looked up towards Ballantyne. Stellanoticed a change come over his face. It was not surprise so much whichshowed there as interest and a confirmation of some suspicion which healready had. He saw that Ballantyne was secretly pouring into his glassnot soda-water at all but whisky from the tantalus. He came back with thetumbler charged to the brim and drank deeply from it with relish.
"That's better," he said, and with a grin he turned his attention to hiswife, fixing her with his eyes, gloating over her like some great snakeover a bird trembling on the floor of its cage. The courses followed oneupon the other and while he ate he baited her for his amusement. She tookrefuge in silence but he forced her to talk and then shivered withridicule everything she said. Stella was cowed by him. If she answered itwas probably some small commonplace which with an exaggerated politenesshe would nag at her to repeat. In the end, with her cheeks on fire, shewould repeat it and bend her head under the brutal sarcasm with which itwas torn to rags. Once or twice Thresk was on the point of springing upin her defence, but she looked at him with so much terror in her eyesthat he did not interfere. He sat and watched and meanwhile his planbegan to take shape in his mind.
There came an interval of silence during which Ballantyne leaned back inhis chair in a sort of stupor; and in the midst of that silence Stellasuddenly exclaimed with a world of longing in her voice:
"And you'll be in England in thirteen days! To think of it!" She glancedround the tent. It seemed incredible that any one could be so fortunate.
"You go straight from Jarwhal Junction here at our tent door to Bombay.To-morrow you go on board your ship and in twelve days afterwards you'llbe in England."
Thresk leaned forward across the table.
"When did you go home last?" he asked.
"I have never been home since I married."
"Never!" exclaimed Thresk.
Stella shook her head.
"Never."
She was looking down at the tablecloth while she spoke, but as shefinished she raised her head.
"Yes, I have been eight years in India," she added, and Thresk saw thetears suddenly glisten in her eyes. He had come up to Chitipurreproaching himself for that morning on the South Downs, a morning sodistant, so aloof from all the surroundings in which he found himselfthat it seemed to belong to an earlier life. But his reproaches becamedoubly poignant now. She had been eight years in India, tied to thisbrute! But Stella Ballantyne mastered herself with a laugh.
"However I am not alone in that," she said lightly. "And how's London?"
It was unfortunate that just at this moment Captain Ballantyne woke up.
"Eh what!" he exclaimed in a mock surprise. "You were talking, Stella,were you? It must have been something extraordinarily interesting thatyou were saying. Do let me hear it."
At once Stella shrank. Her spirit was so cowed that she almost had thelook of a stupid person; she became stupid in sheer terror of herhusband's railleries.
"It wasn't of any importance."
"Oh, my dear," said Ballantyne with a sneer, "you do yourself aninjustice," and then his voice grew harsh, his face brutal. "What wasit?" he demanded.
Stella looked this way and that, like an animal in a trap. Then shecaught sight of Thresk's face over against her. Her eyes appealed to himfor silence; she turned quickly to her husband.
"I only said how's London?"
A smile spread over Ballantyne's face.
"Now did you say that? How's London! Now why did you ask how London was?How should London be? What sort of an answer did you expect?"
"I didn't expect any answer," replied Stella. "Of course the questionsounds stupid if you drag it out and worry it."
Ballantyne snorted contemptuously.
"How's London? Try again, Stella!"
Thresk had come to the limit of his patience. In spite of Stella's appealhe interrupted and interrupted sharply.
"It doesn't seem to me an unnatural question for any woman to ask who hasnot seen London for eight years. After all, say what you like, for womenIndia means exile--real exile."
Ballantyne turned upon his visitor with some rejoinder on his tongue.But he thought better of it. He looked away and contented himselfwith a laugh.
"Yes," said Stella, "we need next-door neighbours."
The restraint which Ballantyne showed towards Thresk only served toinflame him against his wife.
"So that you may pull their gowns to pieces and unpick their characters,"he said. "Never mind, Stella! The time'll come when we shall settle downto domestic bliss at Camberley on twopence-halfpenny a year. That'll bejolly, won't it? Long walks over the heather and quiet evenings--alonewith me. You must look forward to that, my dear." His voice rose to averitable menace as he sketched the future which awaited them and thensank again.
"How's London!" he growled, harping scornfully on the unfortunate phrase.Ballantyne had had luck that night. He had chanced upon two of thebanalities of ordinary talk which give an easy occasion for the bully.Thresk's twenty-four hours to give to Chitipur provided the best opening.Only Thresk was a guest--not that that in Ballantyne's present mood wouldhave mattered a great deal, but he was a guest whom Ballantyne had it inhis mind to use. All the more keenly therefore he pounced upon Stella.But in pouncing he gave Thresk a glimpse into the real man that he was, aglimpse which the barrister was quick to appreciate.
"How's London? A lot of London we shall be able to afford! God! what alife there's in store for us! Breakfast, lunch and dinner, dinner,breakfast, lunch--all among the next-door neighbours." And upon that heflung himself back in his chair and reached out his arms.
"Give me Rajputana!" he cried, and even through the thickness of hisutterance his sincerity rang clear as a bell. "You can stretch yourselfhere. The cities! Live in the cities and you can only wear yourself outhankering to do what you like. Here you can do it. Do you see that, Mr.Thresk? You can do it." And he thumped the table with his hand.
"I like getting away into camp for two months, three months at atime--on the plain, in the jungle, alone. That's the point--alone. You'vegot it all then. You're a king without a Press. No one to spy on you--noone to carry tales--no next-door neighbours. How's London?" and with asneer he turned back to his wife. "Oh, I know it doesn't suit Stella.Stella's so sociable. Stella wants parties. Stella likes frocks. Stellaloves to hang herself about with beads, don't you, my darling?"
But Ballantyne had overtried her to-night. Her face suddenly flushed andwith a swift and violent gesture she tore at the necklace round herthroat. The clasp broke, the beads fell with a clatter upon her plate,leaving her throat bare. For a moment Ballantyne stared at her, unable tobelieve his eyes. So many times he had made her the butt of his savagehumour and she had offered no reply. Now she actually dared him!
"Why did you do that?" he asked, pushing his face close to hers. But hecould not stare her down. She looked him in the face steadily. Even herlips did not tremble.
"You told me to wear them. I wore them. You jeer at me for wearing them.I take them off."
And as she sat there with h
er head erect Thresk knew why he had biddenher to wear them. There were bruises upon her throat--upon each side ofher throat--the sort of bruises which would be made by the grip of aman's fingers. "Good God!" he cried, and before he could speak anotherword Stella's moment of defiance passed. She suddenly covered her facewith her hands and burst into tears.
Ballantyne pushed back his chair sulkily. Thresk sprang to his feet. ButStella held him off with a gesture of her hand.
"It's nothing," she said between her sobs. "I am foolish. These last fewdays have been hot, haven't they?" She smiled wanly, checking her tears."There's no reason at all," and she got up from her chair. "I think I'llleave you for a little while. My head aches and--and--I've no doubt Ihave got a red nose now."
She took a step or two towards the passage into her private tentbut stopped.
"I _can_ leave you to get along together alone, can't I?" she said withher eyes on Thresk. "You know what women are, don't you? Stephen willtell you interesting things about Rajputana if you can get him to talk.I shall see you before you go," and she lifted the screen and went outof the room. In the darkness of the passage she stood silent for amoment to steady herself and while she stood there, in spite of herefforts, her tears burst forth again uncontrollably. She clasped herhands tightly over her mouth so that the sound of her sobbing might notreach to the table in the centre of the big marquee; and with her lipswhispering in all sincerity the vain wish that she were dead shestumbled along the corridor.
But the sound had reached into the big marquee and coming after thesilence it wrung Thresk's heart. He knew this of her at all events--thatshe did not easily cry. Ballantyne touched him on the arm.
"You blame me for this."
"I don't know that I do," answered Thresk slowly. He was wondering howmuch share in the blame he had himself, he who had ridden with her on theDowns eight years ago and had let her speak and had not answered. He satin this tent to-night with shame burning at his heart. "It wasn't as if Ihad no confidence in myself," he argued, unable quite to cast back to theThresk of those early days. "I had--heaps of it."
Ballantyne lifted himself out of his chair and lurched over to thesideboard. Thresk, watching him, fell to wondering why in the worldStella had married him or he her. He knew that a blind man may see suchmysteries on any day and that a wise one will not try to explain them.Still he wondered. Had the man's reputation dazzled her?--for undoubtedlyhe had one; or was it that intellect which suffered an eclipse whenBallantyne went into camp with nobody to carry tales?
He was still pondering on that problem when Ballantyne swung back to thetable and set himself to prove, drunk though he was, that his reputationwas not ill-founded.
"I am afraid Stella's not very well," he said, sitting heavily down."But she asked me to tell you things, didn't she? Well, her wishes are mylaw. So here goes."
His manner altogether changed now that they were alone. He becameconfidential, intimate, friendly. He was drunk. He was a coarseheavy-featured man with bloodshot eyes; he interrupted his conversationwith uneasy glances into the corners of the tent, such glances as Threskhad noticed when he was alone with him before they sat down to dinner;but he managed none the less to talk of Rajputana with a knowledge whichamazed Thresk now and would have enthralled him at another time. Avisitor may see the surface of Rajputana much as Thresk had done, mayadmire its marble palaces, its blue lakes and the great yellow stretchesof its desert, but to know anything of the life underneath in thatstrange secret country is given to few even of those who for long yearsfly the British flag over the Agencies. Nevertheless Ballantyneknew--very little as he acknowledged but more than his fellows. Andgroping drunkenly in his mind he drew out now this queer intrigue, nowthat fateful piece of history, now the story of some savage punishmentwreaked behind the latticed windows, and laid them one after anotherbefore Thresk's eyes--his peace-offerings. And Thresk listened. Butbefore his eyes stood the picture of Stella Ballantyne standing alone inthe dark corridor beyond the grass-screen whispering with wild lips herwish that she was dead; and in his ears was the sound of her sobbing.Here, it seemed, was another story to add to the annals of Rajputana.
Then Ballantyne tapped him on the arm.
"You're not listening," he said with a leer. "And I'm telling you goodthings--things that people don't know and that I wouldn't tell them--theswine. You're not listening. You're thinking I'm a brute to my wife, eh?"And Thresk was startled by the shrewdness of his host's guess.
"Well, I'll tell you the truth. I am not master of myself," Ballantynecontinued. His voice sank and his eyes narrowed to two little brightslits. "I am afraid. Yes, that's the explanation. I am so afraid thatwhen I am not alone I seek relief any way, any how. I can't help it." Andeven as he spoke his eyes opened wide and he sat staring intently at adim corner of the tent, moving his head with little jerks from one sideto the other that he might see the better.
"There's no one over there, eh?" he asked.
"No one."
Ballantyne nodded as he moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue.
"They make these tents too large," he said in a whisper. "One great blotof light in the middle and all around in the corners--shadows. We sithere in the blot of light--a fair mark. But what's going on in theshadows, Mr.--What's your name? Eh? What's going on in the shadows?"
Thresk had no doubt that Ballantyne's fear was genuine. He was notputting forward merely an excuse for the scene which his guest hadwitnessed and might spread abroad on his return to Bombay. No, he wasreally terrified. He interspersed his words with sudden unexpectedsilences, during which he sat all ears and his face strained to listen,as though he expected to surprise some stealthy movement. But Threskaccounted for it by that decanter on the sideboard, in which the level ofthe whisky had been so noticeably lowered that evening. He was wronghowever, for Ballantyne sprang to his feet.
"You are going away to-night. You can do me a service."
"Can I?" asked Thresk.
He understood at last why Ballantyne had been at such pains to interestand amuse him.
"Yes. And in return," cried Ballantyne, "I'll give you another glimpseinto the India you don't know."
He walked up to the door of the tent and drew it aside. "Look!"
Thresk, leaning forward in his chair, looked out through the opening. Hesaw the moonlit plain in a soft haze, in the middle of it the green lampof a railway signal and beyond the distant ridge, on which straggled theruins of old Chitipur.
"Look!" cried Ballantyne. "There's tourist India all in one: a desert, arailway and a deserted city, hovels and temples, deep sacred pools andforgotten palaces--the whole bag of tricks crumbling slowly to ruinthrough centuries on the top of a hill. That's what the good people comeout for to see in the cold weather--Jarwhal Junction and old Chitipur."
He dropped the curtain contemptuously and it swung back, shutting out thedesert. He took a step or two back into the tent and flung out his armswide on each side of him.
"But bless your soul," he cried vigorously, "here's the real India."
Thresk looked about the tent and understood.
"I see," he answered--"a place very badly lit, a great blot of light inthe centre and all around it dark corners and grim shadows."
Ballantyne nodded his head with a grim smile upon his lips.
"Oh, you have learnt that! Well, you shall do me a service and in returnyou shall look into the shadows. But we will have the table clearedfirst." And he called aloud for Baram Singh.